


Carpe Noctem

by UMsArchive



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Asexual Raphael Santiago, Demiromantic Raphael Santiago, F/M, M/M, Polyamorous Character, but everyone gets old and die, but sort of a hopeful ending, eventually, may go as far as to call it happy, no major tragedy happens concerning the 'major character death', there's lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UMsArchive/pseuds/UMsArchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war against Sebastian has ended and everyone comes back alive from Hell (as alive as they had been to begin with). Raphael gives Simon the opportunity to re-join the clan and leave the old issues behind and Simon accepts, splitting his life between the vampires' well-being and his Shadowhunter friends and family.<br/>For decades, it seems like unlife couldn't get any better and nothing threatens to take all of that happiness away from Simon. Aside from the passing of time that slowly takes everything away from him. Almost everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

Simon may not be a Shadowhunter, but he believed he had just found out what losing a parabatai meant. Some would say that his soul had been forsaken long ago. He had even believed it himself. But he doubted it now, when half of it had been ripped off. Brutally. Irremediably. He felt as though something that had kept him grounded to the world has been taken away from him and now he was and would be forever lost.

  
He didn't leave his room on the first day. And not Raphael or anyone else came in. He wouldn't have noticed the passing of time, but the curtains were drawn when he had come back that night and he didn't get up to move them. He didn't get up at all, for anything. He felt the warmth of the sun gradually enveloping him in heavenly light, only to gradually let him in the dark once again. He wasn't sure he could move if he tried. perhaps he would petrify. Perhaps he would just stop feeling his body at some point. And then his conscience would fade. And he'd turn to stone. And stop feeling altogether, if indeed he still felt something now.

  
The second day came. His hopes that his body would just go numb and unfeeling ran low. Veins were throbbing. Throat was aching. He believed he felt something he didn't think he could feel anymore - a lasting pain just behind his eyeballs, encompassing his entire head, spreading down the back of his neck. He rolled his head once, and felt dizzy. That was it. He had moved. But now he nurtured different hopes. He could lay there until he'd be completely starved and fade away. Be found there as the lifeless body that he already was, only that what was left of his soul would've left it too. And he'd be free.

  
The sun set once again. His vision was a blur, but he thought he could see the stars outside. Or maybe they were just spots of light on his retina - his senses were deteriorating. They were beautiful nonetheless. He tried to focus on them. The only shimmering lights in the complete darkness.

  
Suddenly, they were gone. That was it, then? Did he lose consciousness? But, if he did, why didn't the thoughts stop? Why didn't the pain go away? His throat felt as if it had been set ablaze. He felt intoxicated with a well known scent.

  
"Simon, Raphael sent us with this." The voice sounded slightly muffled to his ears.

  
Simon looked up. The darkness that had come between him and his lovely shiny spots ended with a head. The head was talking to him. He tried to focus his gaze. It wasn't that easy of a job when you were barely alive. Well, not alive in its usual sense. But thriving, he supposed - barely thriving.

  
Elliot.

  
His gaze traveled lower, to what his fellow clan member was holding, although he didn't need to in order to know what was inside that bottle.

  
"Go away, Elliot," he replied, though he was not sure he had been heard well. His voice was so husky he had almost wondered if he was actually the one who spoke those words.

  
Elliot sighed. "I can't do that and you know it. Raphael instructed us to force this down your throat if you refused to drink it yourself and that he doesn't care if any of us die in the attempt."

  
Simon almost cracked a smile at that, glancing behind Elliot upon hearing 'us' to see that, indeed, others were waiting in case the assistance would be needed. But Simon knew Raphael WOULD care if any of them 'died in the attempt'. And Raphael knew very well that Simon himself would care.

  
"Only if he mixes it with 1/4 vodka," he replied eventually.

  
"He did," Elliot smiled, handing him the bottle. Raphael knew him well. Simon thought he heard the others outside exhale in relief. At this, he did smile. A small, half bitter smile, but a smile nonetheless.

  
He downed the bottle quickly. Out of hunger, but also eager for the alcohol to soothe him as much as it could manage. The room sharted to look sharper, courtesy of the blood, but still slightly distorted, courtesy of the vodka.

  
"More?" Elliot asked.

  
"You may shoot for a 1/3 vodka ratio," Simon replied, handing back the bottle.

  
"Raphael did also foresee you may want to increase the strength of it," Elliot smirked, his fangs shining in the darkness. A second bottle was procured from the crowd still waiting outside.

  
Simon smiled a softer, truer smile, taking it. This time, he took a swing, taking it slowly. He was no longer starved. He just wanted to be wasted. "Where is Raphael?"  
"His bedroom," Elliot raised his shoulders, as in 'where else could he be?'.

  
"At night?" Simon inquired. At the door, the others were slowly going away - their mission had been accomplished, the only spilled blood running down Simon's neck.  
"It's almost 4 am."

  
Simon nodded. It was strange, making casual conversation after a couple days silence in the dark. Hunger. Misery. Dark thoughts. The last two still lingered.

  
"Thanks, Elliot. You can go to sleep." Elliot nodded and walked out. Simon took sip after sip of his drink, his mind clouding gradually, until he swung the bottle a last time to realize it had been emptied. His judgement was fuzzy. The pain remained. Somewhat numbed, but not enough as not to be still very much aware of its real intensity, under the cotton coating of alcohol.

  
He got up with little support from the bed frame he had been leaning against, all of this time, stumbling, step by unsure step, to the door. Leaning against the right wall, he paced to the room at the end of the hall, knocking in uneven beats.

  
The door cracked, revealing a tired face as Simon thought only he himself could look. He squinted his eyes, wondering, but didn't question it. Raphael was looking back at Simon with an exhausted, unreadable expression, waiting for him to speak first.

  
"Hi," Simon said lamely, in a half-broken voice.

  
"Are we hydrated now and everything?" Raphael asked smugly, but sounding almost concerned.

  
Simon only nodded, exhaling loudly. He didn't quite know what to say. He didn't have a plan. He didn't want to think. He wanted his brain to remian numb and unsolicited and thus not solicit anything from Simon either. So he just spoke what came to his mouth first, and as if it was a great effort to even form coherent words at all, "Can I stay here? I find it I don't have the best ideas when I am alone."

  
"You seldom have good ideas altogether, Simon," Raphael replied and yawned, his shoulders slouching as if they've lost some lasting tenseness right then, as he moved out of the way, making room for Simon to pass through and into the room.

  
Simon didn't wait for other invitation and stepped into the room, eyeing the bed. He slipped under the covers of Raphael's bed as if it was the most natural thing for him. He was in a hurry to find some sort of heat that he knew well he wouldn't. There had been years since he'd felt warmth next to him in a bed and, given what had provoked him the current state, thinking of THAT was out of the question, too. He may not have felt actual coldness for decades, but he felt a sort of shivers going down and up his spine, making his chest flutter with uneasiness, as if he needed to catch his breath, although that hadn't been necessary in decades, either.

  
He felt more than heard another weight occupying the space on the other side of the bed. And then everything was silent once again. Vampires did not breathe and barely ever moved during sleeping, so it felt as though he was just alone again.

  
He turned around, finding Raphael to be facing him. His eyes were already closed and he conveyed the definition of sleeping soundly and peacefully. Simon wondered at the dark circles under Raphael's eyes and that he had been himself sleep deprived enough as to fall asleep instantly just then.

  
He turned on his back, facing the ceiling. But the emptiness and darkness awoke another wave of anguish inside of him. So he turned back to facing Raphael's, trying to mimic the peacefulness of his sleeping figure, trying to imagine what had brought it upon him and why it hadn't been there before, to decode the workings of this process. He couldn't quite figure it out, but as he occupied his mind so, his soul had found enough calm within to let him sleep.

  
When he woke up, his chest wasn't so heavy, although his head was - he blamed that on the lingering vodka. Raphael was sleeping. He sniffed the air, turning round to the source of a predominant scent. On the nightstand on his side, there was a large glass of blood. He looked back at Raphael, wondering. He could've sworn his pajamas had been a lighter color the day before. Perhaps that hadn't been 'the day before'. Perhaps he had slept for quite a while. He wondered if it had been one day or more. But he didn't feel as hungry as to had been lying there for multiple days.

  
He took the glass, eyed it carefully. He remembered the thoughts of starvation from the day before and, with it, the reasons why he had wanted to just be done with all this, once and for all. He looked down at Raphael, sleeping, unmoving, faint traces of blue still round his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't wake up.

  
He thought of the past decades. His awakening into this new lifeless life. His first days at Dumort. The betrayal. The division. The rocky relationship with the clan that followed.  
He remembered the trip to Hell. He remembered wondering vaguely if the fate of his former clan leader had been part of the reason he had wanted to join the rescue, alongside with his worry for Magnus, and Jocelyn, and Luke. And the desire to help Clary. And Izzy. And even Jace and Alec.

  
He remembered the panic at finding Raphael lying motionless and bleeding. And as the others jumped at Magnus' and Luke's side, as Luke and the others left to search for Jocelyn, he and Alec told them they'd stay behind. While Alec tried to put the weakened warlock back on his feet, Simon poured some of his own blood over Raphael's wound and poured some of the blood he had been carrying into his open mouth, until the older vampire became more responsive and drained the bottle on his own.

  
Upon finding him there, Raphael didn't say anything, but reluctantly accepted Simon's hand and support, just as Alec, supporting Magnus, was heading out, and called for them to hurry as well.

  
They still haven't spoken as they made their way to their own dimension, Raphael now walking on his own, although struggling to do so, after Clary had managed to stab Sebastian before he had had the chance to seal them in Hell.

  
They parted ways when Raphael remained on the Faerie's underground land to wait for the sun to rise. Simon had offered to stay, but he had declined the offer.  
As Simon tried to make a plan for his life, now that the war was behind and eternity lied ahead of him, he heard that 'the current head' of New York's vampire clan, Maureen, has 'vanished' and that Raphael Santiago was once again its leader. Simon wondered if Raphael had killed her, or just applied the same treatment as when Camille was overthrown. Nonetheless, he didn't have the guts to visit the Dumort himself and find out.

  
In the meantime, Alec and Magnus had talked through their issues and he and Izzy found themselves having similar discussions soon. About immortality. About risks. Though perhaps it went smoother for them. Izzy wanted him and she knew they could work it out. He wanted her, although he was not as brave. But the decision was made. They'd be together. For as long as she lived. And he tried not to think of a day when she might not be alive any longer. And when he managed not to think of that, they were the happiest.

  
One of those days, Magnus told him Raphael wanted him to go to Dumort. He asked Magnus for assurances that no attempts of ending his unlife would be made - again. Once granted, the meeting took place. Simon found himself feeling happier than he'd thought he'd be at seeing Raphael looking healthy and as content as he'd ever seen him.  
It wasn't a long talk. He shortly and reluctantly thanked Simon for saving his life. And he told him that 'that service commended him to take the initiative to restore their relations and put the past incidents behind', all in a very detached, professional tone, as if it had been rehearsed. Simon could even re-join the clan if it fitted him.

  
Simon didn't quite know what to say to that, or the presentation of it. He accepted the offer to 'restore their relations', however, finding in himself an unexpected amount of happiness at not being called a pariah anymore, the actual willingness to be once again considered as truly one of his kind and a desire to be of use to the clan. And he didn't hesitate to let himself be seen very cheery about it.

  
Raphael looked oddly surprised at Simon's outburst, as if he hadn't expected him to accept. And Simon wondered then if it hadn't all been done just to be done, with the preferred expectancy of Simon turning it down.

  
But the moment passed, and Raphael's expression was once again business-like. "Well, when are you moving back in, then? I think your old room is still vacant. It may still have things of yours - you left quite in a hurry last time, as we both recall," he went on, matter-of-factly, but there was no malice in talking about 'the last time'.  
In a few years, he raised back to being Raphael's subordinate again and he was often trusted with taking his place as their representative for the Clave, too, since Raphael was truly bothered by being part of that foolishness anyway and it also turned out Simon was a damn good argumentator with the Nephilim and didn't back down when vampire's interests were in the game.

  
Those had been some of Simon's happiest years. He spent time with Clary. He was dating Izzy. He even got along with Jace and Alec. And, eventually, he moved out of Dumort, three years later only after he had come back, although this time not out of the clan, too, and moved in a cozy apartment with Izzy. Magnus still called him anything but his actual name, and he was getting very creative, but that was their own thing, he guessed.

  
In the meantime, Alec and Magnus had adopted a baby warlock. The entire Lightwood family was unexpectedly joyous with the addition to their party. In a couple of years, a shadowhunter boy joined them and Simon could clearly see an obvious longing growing in Izzy as she watched her brother's sons. He decided to take the initiative in his own hands and, one night, as they enjoyed a drink, he brought up the idea of artificial insemination. She admitted she had wanted to bring it up herself for a while. There was nothing left to argument. Just to plan.

  
The twin boys were perfectly healthy, as was their mother and the vampires at Dumort, even Raphael, listened mostly patiently to Simon bragging about their utter perfection. Simon continued doing his vampire work and Izzy continued doing her Shadowhunter work. Of course, odd stares and nasty comments have been made at the match, but subdued over the years, and fierce Isabelle was too good and powerful to care and Simon learnt himself to be more of each. And the boys grew older, the explanations have been made and, very often, three Shadowhunter young ones and a blue boy running through Dumort would be considered as nothing unusual.

  
However, the other vampires could see their leader watch the laughing children with a peculiar expression just as often. There was something like longing in that look, especially when Simon was running along with the twins. And they thought they knew what it meant. Normal vampires were not allowed to have this kind of life.

  
Despite what certain novels depicted, mundane womans were really not into the idea of forming an serious relationship and actual family with a bloodsucking vicious creature of the night such as vampire men were. Vampire women were themselves bare and dead. And all of them, in all honesty, did not believe that a life such as this was for them. Simon was just lucky.

But they knew the luck wouldn't last forever.


	2. Part 2

The first to die was Jace. 

Of course, they had joked about it. It seemed appropriate to, back when they were all in their twenties. It almost didn’t lose its charm in their thirties, either. They were all strong, still, all looking good. The differences in the maturity of their faces, of their bodies, started to show, of course. Alec’s frowning lines from his youth were irremediably deepening. His hair was growing coarse and greying. Isabelle’s curves were losing their elasticity. Her hair was losing its shiness and thinning. But Magnus saw only his steadier gaze, the built confidence in his strong body - still as beautiful, more the wiser. And Simon saw the tenderness in her eyes, in her moves - still a goddess, still shocked to call her his wife.

 

In their forties, Simon and Magnus found themselves reassuring them a lot. Alec and Isabelle knew they were sincere, but they also knew there was truth in their dark thoughts, too.

In their fifties, Clary was a widow and Alec was broken. Simon has spent a few days at Clary’s house after the funeral - Isabelle understood. Magnus and Alec went away for a while - Isabelle understood that, too.

In their sixties, Alec was surviving his second heart attack. The first happened the day Jace died. He didn’t survive a third. Magnus didn’t spend too much time around for a long while after.

Before even reaching their seventies, Simon lost Izzy. Magnus came for the funeral. He didn’t say much, but Simon saw how much he understood. Of course he did. Clary understood losing a spouse, too. But there was a more lasting ache for the two immortal ones. They had to carry the pain for much longer. 

Clary had moved to Idris a while back. She asked him if he wanted to join her there. He didn’t. He went back to Dumort. Without any great announcement about it. He just walked in. He found Raphael in the lobby. Raphael knew what had happened, of course. He didn’t say his condolences, though. He didn’t even greet him. Just, “Your room is still as you left it, I’ve no doubt.” His voice was neutral. Sounded tired. It was almost 4 am. He looked like he’d been waiting for something, lounged for no apparent reason on a coach in the lobby - now sitting up.

Simon nodded solemnly to that. He felt a tinge of warmth as he looked at him. As he took in the sight of the hotel itself. A feeling of homeliness he thought he’d never feel again as he looked last upon their apartment after they had taken her body away. He had the momentary pull to hug Raphael - that hunger for some sort of comfort twisting inside of him, he guessed. He didn’t. They shook hands instead, walking in silence upstairs to their respective bedrooms. 

His room was clean and had new bedsheets, unexpectedly - although the things he had left behind from times he had slept over or his sons did were where he remembered them to had been. Which was touching. But it was still sterile and cold and dead. And that feeling of belonging was evaporated. 

He went to bed, but wasn’t really able to fall asleep. It might take time, getting used to sleeping alone. More time than a nigh-… day’s sleeping time. He walked out at sunset, although sunset was not relevant for him. He walked around, finding Raphael in the library.

Raphael didn’t ask him pleasantries like how he slept - Simon knew he could see he didn’t. He poured him a glass of blood. Simon downed it absently, not even feeling its taste. It made him feel nauseous. 

“Do you have any business abroad?” he asked Raphael. Obviously, this wasn’t about Raphael himself going abroad. 

“I’ll keep you informed if something comes up,” Raphael replied with an intent look, sipping from his own glass. 

The night passed in a blur. At sunrise, he was faced again with an empty room. He walked in, couldn’t quite continue being there without throwing up, then walked out. He headed like in a dream across the corridor, knocked on his door. 

Raphael opened it, already in pajamas. He didn’t ask, just looked at him expectedly. 

“Can I sleep here?” he asked, very aware at the oddity of the request, but not caring much - not even thinking much.

Raphael was a bit confused, a bit shifty-eyed at the request. He seemed ready to make some joke about it, but also to be thinking better of it. Simon just stood there, looking exhausted, waiting. “I guess,” Raphael opened the door wide, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

Simon went in, not as willing as his direct request. The room was elegant, but simple, decor kept to a minimum. Most of vampires liked their fancy coffin quite well, but those like Simon kept to their bed and other living aspects of life. Thankfully, Raphael, too, seemed to be fond of a king sized soft mattress. Raphael went and laid on the left side of it, turning his back to Simon, who took the other side. He wondered, as he settled in, if that was Raphael normal spot, or he was just accommodating him. 

He tucked himself in and felt something resembling easiness as Raphael left out a breath of air he didn’t even need - it might’ve been a sigh - and fell asleep almost peacefully. 

The next night, after they woke up, Raphael gave him the job he’s been asking for - the first of many of the kind. 

Time started to pass very differently for Simon. He lost track of time itself a lot, to begin with. He visited Clary, his sons, and nephews, and nieces, and grandchildren less and less and was always surprised and more demoralized to find them older and older. His immortal friends remained. They made him feel still that he wasn’t losing track, that he wasn’t going to die -which was as dark a thought as it was reassuring. 

 

The only presence that stood truly constant since back when he’d joined all this incredible madness that had become his life was Raphael. The one steady aura he had been gravitating around for all of his undead life. While all has been changing, whether for better or worse times, again and again, Raphael remained like a pillar to lean against. He’s had quite a few homes throughout his life. And he knew, Hotel Dumort was never really home, no. But, these days, as he did feel a pull that made him come back now and then, and so he’d been questioning himself why he’d look for belonging and familiarity there? Why not visiting Clary oftener? Or his family?

He walked up its front steps sometime after 3 AM, drenched from the violent rain outside, but not bothered much by it, stifling a yawn. 

“Back after only two weeks? This must be a record,” the elegant figure in the lobby uncrossed his legs and put his book aside, sitting up. Simon felt a sense of relief of some kind.

Raphael - he looked even moderately content just then, but God knows for what. Simon almost hugged him, though. Almost. 

“How do I always find you in the lobby? It’s like you’re some receptioner or something,” he said instead, teasingly, but not unkindly. 

“You look like a wet dog and you’re ruining the carpets,” Raphael raised his eyebrows in exchange, not clear whether he said it with any sort of contempt, following Simon as he went upstairs - as if he’s just been waiting for him to call it a day - or night. Or maybe not.

It was comforting, knowing Raphael was in his room, close by. Not so much being alone in his room, though. He changed into dry clothes and just as he was about to jump into bed, his earpiece - as much as phones were nowadays - rang. Odd. He told the device to pick it up for him. He later wished he hadn’t. He wished he had lived in ignorance of it for the rest of eternity. He couldn’t get any more funerals. He couldn’t just-.

Not. Not-

Clary.

***

He looks down at Raphael’s sleeping form in confusion. He feels like he’s betraying many by feeling demolished, yet still anchored in this world. So many times he’d come crawling feeling it would be the end of him, that he couldn’t do it anymore, but he had a strange peace enveloping him here in this room. And yes, the hurt is real, too real, it is gnawing at his soul that he still believes in. But there is clarity in it that he feels like he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t be as much as feeling and hurting. He should be numb and gone.

But underneath the guilt he is greedy. He is self preserving, maybe. He wishes he could reach out his arms. He wishes that kind of comfort, no matter if the warmth is genuine or not.

Raphael moves in his sleep. Simon moves out of the bed. He’s heartbroken. He’s miserable. He’s pining. He needs to clear his head. 

***

 

He meets Magnus somewhere in Peru. The first thing he says after greetings was how they finally lifted his ban. The second, what a shame it is he didn’t get to visit it with Alec. He is still wearing white. He is alone.

Simon figures, if there is anyone trustworthy he could ask about personal issues, that’s Magnus. He has the credentials, he has the wisdom, he has the experience. And Simon has pondered over it. It isn’t that he is just pining now. Whatever Raphael is for him, Simon has looked at him the same way for the longest of time. It doesn’t make sense. And he tried to compare it - to Clary, to Izzy, but it didn’t just work like that.

“Simon, now that you brought it up, I really always thought you never just stopped loving Clary the way you always did,” Magnus said carefully.

 

“What-,” Simon frowned. “What are you talking about? I fell in love with Isabelle. And I was happy for Clary. I never-”

“Yes, of course. I don’t doubt that. I just think you loved them both. And, honestly, I also always thought you might have feelings for Raphael, too.”

“How- Magnus, people can’t just-”

“Oh, some do. It’s not unheard of. You are well enough acquainted with Tessa’s story, I think. But really, especially about Raphael, I wouldn’t have said a thing, because I did suspect he also feels something for you, but-”

“But what?”

“Raphael isn’t only asexual, but also I did think, for the longest of time, that he was also aromantic. I cannot be sure. I’m still not sure. But, Simon, the point is he might not have the same kind of feelings for you, all the same.”

“Oh.” Simon thought for some moments. That conversation had escalated quickly. He’s come by not sure how to class all this about Raphael. But given how easily he could just move to wondering feverishly whether Raphael did have feelings for him, he guessed he had the answer, for himself at least. Especially when his mind was already   
between hopefulness and acceptance of whatever he could get. 

***

He walked into the hotel at about 3 PM this time. Everyone should’ve been sleeping still - no wonder it was quiet and lonely.

“Left rather abruptly this time, didn’t we?” the usual voice talked to him as he entered the lobby, as usually, with a book in hand - the hour didn’t quite seem like before bedtime reading. His clothes were, as always, elegant, his hair well combed. He put his book down, sat up, looking questioningly at him. “You had no sanctioned mission, as far as I, the clan leader, am concerned?” His eyes glinted, his hands dug into his pants’ pockets. Despite the casualness, he was obviously tired.

Simon looked at him like in a daze. God, he was tired, too. And all he wanted was to never sleep in his own room again, even if it just meant having his separate side forever, watching Raphael’s back from a distance. But he had no excuse to. And if he would open the subject, he might risk being prohibited to. By awkwardness. By paranoia. By disgust, maybe. 

“I just wanted to visit Magnus,” Simon replied, just to say something. Just to not let themselves fall into a questioning silence. 

“It took you almost two weeks to visit Magnus?” Raphael quirked his eyebrow.

“Well, he was in Peru,” Simon shrugged - God, he was so tired. So cold. So numb.

Raphael seemed to be judging whether to say anything more, then appeared to make up his mind and casually walked towards the main staircase, turning his back to Simon.

“What are we?” Simon almost wailed. It was the most outdated, stupid and embarrassing choice of words that he could go with. He kind of wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but also - what the fuck did it even matter? 

He saw Raphael stilling in his walk, but not really in a surprised or awkward manner - or maybe it was just Raphael who just was always so calculated and so controlled and so much wiser than him. The raise in his shoulders was fluid, voice almost casual, when he said, “I don’t know.” He didn’t turn but he didn’t leave either.

Simon looked pointedly at him. Vague answer, but definitely not angry, not incredulous or startled. “I don’t know either, but-”

But what? What could he even say? He was too tired to think. But if he left now all he’d have would be another sleepless night. It would be even harder to do this tomorrow, after words have been left unspoken once. “Let’s be something,” he said it as simple as thought process made it for him in his state of mental more than physical exhaustion.

 

“Let’s. Be. Something?” Raphael turned finally, crossing his arms with a smug expression. Kind of amused, yeah. Not angry. Good. Still good.

“Yeah, I mean-” Ok, now what? 

“Simon, everybody here knows I’m asexual,” Raphael was almost serious now, his back leaning slightly against the closest wall.

“Yeah, I know that,” Simon nodded tiredly. 

“I’m not quite sure romance is my thing,” he went on, thoughtfully, looking right at him.

“I kinda know that, too,” Simon nodded again, not knowing much what he was doing. 

“So?”

He couldn’t tell whether there was finality in that. He wasn’t sure if it had been meant to shut him up or to demand a proper answer of him, but Simon was frustrated, so he answered it anyway, “I guess I just-,” he ran his hand through his hair with a sigh, mostly talking to the floor, “I just want to not freak out at the thought of telling you I missed you when I come back or actually hug you for that matter. I want to just sleep next to you on better nights than I already did. I-,” he sighed again, his lids heavy above his eyes. “Look, I mean, I just want whatever I can get and give whatever you might want to receive,” the finished off, finally looking up.

Raphael was still there, staring back at him, an alien expression on his face. Simon would call it bewildered confusion, only that was something he’s never seen on Raphael’s face before, so he couldn’t be sure. He blinked, shook his head a few times, all with the silence in between them. 

Although long since a mundane aspect to him, Simon still flinched at the suddenness of a vampire’s speed, placing Raphael face to face with him. “Lewis, you’re either quite too desperate or quite too romantic, but definitely hopeless in both cases,” he shook his head in mock lament.

Simon wished he could close that small distance, too, altogether, but he knew that he couldn’t, so he just swallowed, saying, “Am I still sleeping on your doormat tonight?”

“You never slept on my doormat,” Raphael answered with a quirk of his eyebrows, way too confident in his words.

“Yeah, it’s planned from today onwards,” Simon nodded.

“Dios, you are desperate.”

“Romantic,” Simon rectified.  
For a short moment, Raphael looked like he was about to lean in. A blink away, he was at the edge of the staircase again.

“You stick on your side of bed,” he said, back turned to him, already walking up the stairs.

“Yes, sir,” Simon grinned, following him.

“Don’t ‘yes, sir’ me. It sounds so dumb.”

“Yes, sir,” Simon laughed. Raphael just sighed and let him be. 

He kept his body on his side of the bed, as promised, and Raphael on his own. But the older man's hand did find his own, in the silence and the darkness. Simon held on tightly through his sleep. He's never had a bad white night again.


End file.
